


Are you a practice room? Because I want you and I hope you're not taken (also you're unbelievably hot and make me feel self-conscious)

by endomiphins



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Orchestra, Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M, Pianist Akaashi Keiji, Violinist Miya Osamu, this is not yliap au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28957761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endomiphins/pseuds/endomiphins
Summary: Osamu looks at the program booklet. Akaashi Keiji. The name sounds familiar, yet Osamu can't put a name to the face.Must be one of those hermit ones.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu
Comments: 11
Kudos: 89





	Are you a practice room? Because I want you and I hope you're not taken (also you're unbelievably hot and make me feel self-conscious)

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: i'm not french. i do occasionally pretend to know what i'm doing with german. the french in here are performance directions, usually written by composers to help musicians.  
> cw: small/mild panic attack in _Sonore sans dureté_ section

_Profondément calme (danse une brume doucement sonore)_

"What the fuck are we here for?"

"It's called checking out the competition 'Samu. Although, I don't think you would understand that anyway, would ya?"

Osamu slaps Atsumu's shoulder with the program notes, "Shut up."

Atsumu rubs his arm where Osamu had hit him and feigns a look of pain, "Have some proper recital etiquette dude, stop slapping me."

Osamu narrows his eyes at Atsumu as he gives him a shit-eating grin. _The fucking audacity_. 

The Steinway Model D sits on centre stage, the black contrasting against the light stained wood floors and walls. The recital hall isn't fully packed, it's a Friday night. The majority of the student population were out getting wasted or high rather than watching a piano recital. The other students in the hall with them are only there to get the required recital attendance credit. Osamu doesn't understand why Atsumu had to drag him here, Atsumu already finished that requirement last spring, and so did he (not that it matters in the long run).

Osamu looks at the program booklet. _Akaashi Keiji_. The name sounds familiar, yet Osamu can't put a name to the face. _Must be one of those hermit ones._

The music college had a closed community; most students were familiar with each other from band or orchestra. It doesn't help the reputation of music students as nerds and closed off from reality. Not that they can help it anyway, they spent most of their time in the music building, slaving away hours in a dead practice room with sterile white lighting, all to perfect their techniques and pieces.

The program isn't long, only five pieces, and they're all under 15 minutes. _Thank fuck_. Osamu doesn't know how much more music he can take tonight. Atsumu made him listen to his recital pieces before dragging him to this.

("I just need a second opinion 'Samu."

"You make it sound like you care about what I say anyway."

Atsumu gasps and puts his hand at his chest, “You wound me.”)

Heels click against the wooden stage as a lean figure walks on and takes his place beside the grand piano. Osamu doesn't catch a clear look at the man's face as he takes a bow. The man's dressed in a white button-down with black slacks and black Oxfords, nothing unusual for performance dress code, but the piercings on his ear gleam under the bright spotlight. When the man looks up, green-ish blue eyes behind thin rectangular wire-framed glasses consume Osamu, his gaze unwavering. Osamu’s breath hitches at the sight. 

Akaashi breaks the eye contact first to take his place at the piano. He adjusts the bench and positions his feet at the pedals. He maintains perfect posture, back straight with his wrists and elbow lined up in a straight line as he hovers above the keys. Yet, his figure remains relaxed, his thin hands remain still without any tell-tale signs of nervousness. 

_La Cathédrale engloutie - Claude Debussy_

His fingers hover over the chords before he exhales and sounds the succession of fifths. Osamu takes a deep breath. The gentle tolling of church bells muffled beneath the surface of the sea. He watches Akaashi depress the pedals in calculated movement, a signal of the mist dissipating with the rise of the sun. His fingers move with the ebb and flow of the tides as the music continues to rise. He rolls the arpeggiated bass notes in his left hand, the waves curling underneath the calm surface. The cathedral breaks the surface and emerges from the waves as Akaashi crescendos into the triplets and progresses towards the octaves. His fingers press each key with methodical intent; he does not slam the keys as it reaches the tipping point. 

_It suits him._ Osamu watches Akaashi's deliberate movements. Akaashi does not get carried away by the waves, his figure unmoving on the bench and his eyes concentrated on the keys. Akaashi commands them to raise the cathedral back to its full glory with the progression of dense _fortissimo_ chords. His lean figure sits small compared to the imposing presence of the cathedral. The organ presents itself in all of its grandeur and blares in the morning light; its might resonates in the hall as Akaashi reaches over with his right hand to sound the church bells deep in the bass. The pentatonic scale sings an ancient hymn.

The waves are strong, only giving Akaashi a moment of recognition before subsuming the building back into the depths of the ocean. The waves swallow the ring of the bells as the cathedral descends; Akaashi rolls the bass notes in acceptance of the cathedral returning to its final resting place. The cathedral takes its last bow and the organ resonates for the final time in the murkiness of the waters. His fingers linger on the keys in a moment of hesitation before finally letting go. The final chime resonating through the hall. 

Osamu blinks, his jaw agape at what he just heard, and he feels air enter his lungs again. Silence fills the hall before the drag of the piano bench breaks the tension in the air. Akaashi leaves the piano to bow to the audience. Applause starts to fill the hall as the audience processes the man and the performance he just put out before them. Atsumu lets out a cheer as he claps with all his might. It breaks Osamu out of his thoughts. He sees Akaashi's brows twitch slightly at Atsumu's very-much-not-concert-etiquette behavior. He stifles a laugh to not attract any more attention to themselves as Akaashi takes his place back at the piano. Akaashi breathes, and Osamu lets himself plunge headfirst into the water. 

_Peu à peu sortant de la brume_

The rest of the recital goes by fast. Osamu notes how Akaashi doesn't use excessive body movements to interpret the pieces, it's all in his hands. His wide palms allow him to reach the extended chords on the piano easily, and his long bony fingers press on each key with delicate care. 

It ends before they know it. Atsumu drags him backstage, something about greeting Akaashi. Osamu doesn't remember Atsumu mentioning Akaashi at all. All he talks about is Omi's weird wrists and how Tobio plays the piano like a goody-two-shoes. 

Akaashi Keiji stands in all his glory, talking to one of the piano faculty about the performance. He's a little shorter than Atsumu and him. Osamu can now see the curls in his slicked-back hair held together by some pomade. His fair skin contrasts against the onyx black hair. Two stars sit at his helix connected by a chain to the moon on his ear lobe. The top two buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned, exposing more of his neck and collarbones. The blue in Akaashi's eyes swirl as it catches the light; the red eyeliner emphasized at a close distance and contrasts the specks of green in Akaashi's eyes. 

"Keiji-kun! Welcome back," Atsumu rushes in right as the professor finishes his talk with Akaashi. He takes Akaashi into a hug, and Osamu watches the Akaashi's face contort in discomfort before he pushes Atsumu away to give him an awkward shoulder pat.

"Miya-san. It's nice to see you too."

"Nope, no Miya-san here. Especially with Osamu here. Only Atsumu. Anyway, you did so well! Especially after a break like that."

Akaashi turns away from Atsumu and extends a hand to Osamu, "Nice to see you again Osamu. Are you still playing the violin?"

 _Again?_ Osamu swallows the frog in his throat. He shakes Akaashi's hand, "Hi. I-uh I- somewhat."

Akaashi's brows raised slightly at that, and he lets out a small laugh. Osamu short-circuits, the hamster powering his brain no longer running. 

"Osamu-san, you can also let go of my hand now."

Osamu flinches and drops Akaashi's hand, "Sorry. I-i-uh You-uh you did good out there."

"Thank you –“ Hey! How come he gets to be called Osamu?!"

Osamu takes Atsumu in a chokehold and holds him in his place, "I'm very sorry about my brother. I swear he's better trained than this."

"I'm used to his with Kuroo around me anyway. Nice seeing you guys," Akaashi gives them a polite smile and walks away from their shenanigans.

Osamu only follows his figure as he walks away to greet other people. Atsumu elbows him in the stomach to escape and he doubles down in pain, clutching his stomach, "What the fuck you piece of shit."

"Don't think I didn't see you staring with heart eyes at him the entire time. So fucking gross. You couldn't even give him a proper compliment. What the fuck was 'you did good' Hahahahah oh my god. I gotta tell Sunarin."

Osamu sputters. He can't refute Atsumu. He feels the heat rush up his neck, just like how Akaashi just managed to ascend a whole fucking cathedral. He thinks about how Akaashi's elegant fingers command and control the pieces with ease. He thinks about how Akaashi's god-like presence on stage as he breathes life into the black and white notes on the paper. Yet, Osamu suffocates at his presence. The waters that consumed the cathedral back into the depths fill up Akaashi's lungs. He thinks about how Akaashi doesn't simply let the cathedral sink on its accord, but he controls the waves with soft bass notes to descend the church. He thinks about the swirls in Akaashi's gunmetal blue eyes, the shade of his eyes changing with the angle of the light. He might just let Akaashi drown him in them. 

_Nice to see you again Osamu_.

"Say, 'Tsumu, where did I meet Akaashi-san before?"

"Are you already losing brain cells? At that one piano competition! When he congratulated you instead of me. Of all things—”

Osamu tunes out Atsumu's whining and walks out of the recital hall. He knows that Atsumu will harp on about that incident for the rest of the night because Atsumu doesn't know when to give up. 

He tries to jog his memory a little. He would have remembered the span of oceans held in his eyes. 

Many people had mistaken him for Atsumu before, especially when they were younger before they dyed their hair separate colours. Atsumu's decision to bleach it without toner backfired. He remembers how all the other parents commented on how unprofessional it looked whenever Osamu went to one of Atsumu's competitions. 

Atsumu still has his hair dyed, but he sucked it up and sought professional help for it to be the platinum blond he wanted in the first place. Osamu didn't want to bother with maintaining the silver and let the black grow out. 

He thinks about the spotlight in the hall reflecting off Akaashi’s eyes, creating a whirlpool Osamu has already fallen in. 

"'Samu! Are you paying attention to me?!"

"No and I will never."

"I'm the older one here you bastard!”

_Sonore sans dureté_

Akaashi is seated by the tables, about 30 metres away from him. Bokuto and Kuroo flank him on both sides. They’re discussing something before Bokuto’s laughter permeates the common area. Osamu narrows his eyes at the bassist before bringing his laptop closer to him, trying to find information for his research paper. He pulls at the worn-out carpet as he scrolls through the page of articles. Nothing works for his paper. Suna sits next to him on the floor, but he pays him no mind. The man’s scrolling through TikTok and can’t hear him with his AirPod Pros. Osamu watches Akaashi laugh along with the duo, his hand covering his mouth as he does. Akaashi’s wearing some gold and silver owls on his ear today. Osamu wonders about the number of earrings Akaashi possesses, but Atsumu’s words ring louder in his head as Osamu continues to watch Bokuto make a fool of himself in front of the music school population. 

_“Anyway you did so well! Especially after a break like that."_

Osamu closes out of the windows containing his research paper and opens an incognito tab. 

_Keiji Akaashi – Wikipedia_

_Keiji Akaashi (Japanese:_ **赤葦京治** _; born 5 Decemberr, 1995) is a Japanese pianist…_

It dawns on him – Akaashi has a whole Wikipedia site dedicated to him. 

_1st Prize at the International Chopin Piano Competition_

_1st Prize at the Hamamatsu International_

_2nd place at the International Tchaikovsky Competition._

The awards section goes on. Internationally renowned Akaashi at Osaka University? Osaka University might have one of the best music programs in the country, but it didn’t make sense. Osamu scrolls through the search results and more articles pop up. 

_… carpal tunnel injury takes Akaashi Keiji away from the spotlight…_

_Akaashi Keiji fails to qualify for this year’s …_

_Akaashi Keiji fallen from his throne?_

Osamu blinks at the headlines. Akaashi played with perfect posture. He peeps at Akaashi from behind his screen. The soft curls sit atop his head, not held back by any product, and the sunlight reflects off the little owl earrings Akaashi wears today. His glasses are missing as well. Osamu hears Kuroo goad Bokuto further before Akaashi nags at him for being a pain in the ass. Akaashi always has a look of exasperation whenever the duo are scheming. He follows the movement of Akaashi’s hands that pull at his knuckles and wrists. Akaashi has perfect hands for playing the piano – long fingers, wide palms to reach extended chords, and a slender and elegant hand frame. 

Osamu picks at the hangnail on his index finger as he watches Akaashi bend his fingers backward. He wonders how flexible Akaashi’s fingers are. How far could they reach.

Suna peeps over at Osamu’s computer screen, his breath incredibly close to Osamu’s ear, “Dude. What the fuck. He’s just sitting in front of you. You don’t have to stalk him on LinkedIn or some shit.”

Osamu slams his computer close and whisper-shouts, “Am not stalking Akaashi!” All eyes turn to face Osamu. Bokuto and Kuroo look at him and snorts before breaking out into giggles. 

Suna lets out a low whistle, “Way to go hotshot.”

Osamu freezes, his heart clenches and hugs his computer closer. Kuroo nudges Akaashi in the elbow, andOsamu spots a tinge of pink splatter across Akaashi’s cheeks. His ears turn a bright red as they make eye contact with each other. The blue in his eyes electrifying. Akaashi turns and lowers his eyes away from Osamu before he could savour it any further. Akaashi elbows Kuroo in the thigh, and Osamu watched Kuroo yell and squirm away in pain. This time, Osamu snickers, taking joy in Kuroo’s pain. He doesn’t catch what Kuroo says to Akaashi as Akaashi’s eyes meet his again.

Akaashi only gives him a small smile before turning back to the conversation with Bokuto and Kuroo. Osamu’s heart does a 720 aerial in his chest. 

“You’re so fucking whipped,” Suna gets up from the floor and whacks the back of his head with one of his music books. 

Osamu frowns at him and hits the back of Suna’s knees, “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Suna doesn’t waver, “I support no man who’s a coward.”

Osamu kicks the non-existence dirt by his shoe. He stares at the white specks on the gray tiles and refuses to make eye contact with Dr. Kurosu. The man sits in front of him with Osamu’s degree requirements in his hands. 

"So you're going to drop everything music related after this recital?"

Osamu cringes at his professor's tone. Dr. Kurosu isn’t a harsh man, but Osamu’s guilt in declaring it this late weighs heavy on his shoulders. He pushed back this meeting for as long as possible, but it’s almost the end of his second year. His marketing classes are getting more difficult, and he has to do co-ops and internships soon as well. It had to happen now. The sooner Dr. Kurosu knows, the better. He can get his coursework figured out, and he wouldn’t have to do more than he needs to. More time to dedicate towards that restaurant plan. Osamu can't bring his eyes up to meet Dr. Kurosu. Dr. Kurosu had known him for years since Osamu and Atsumu qualified for their first competition. 

Osamu squirms a little in his seat and scratches the armrest. Dr. Kurosu bores holes into him as he holds the paperwork in his hands. He then sighs and takes off his glasses to rub at his eyes. Osamu braces himself for the lecture about how he’s wasting his potential away, and how he could—

“That’s fine by me. You know what you’re doing. I still expect top performance from you for this last studio recital. No slacking around because you’re not doing it anymore, alright?”

Osamu snaps up to meet Dr. Kurosu’s eyes for the first time. His body slumps and loses its stiffness. The weight on his shoulder lifts, and he lets out a shaky laughter as the air returns to his lungs, “Thank you sir. I will do my best.” 

“You have my support, Osamu,” Dr. Kurosu nods at him. “Now, explain to me. Why _Speigel im spiegel_?”

Atsumu spent the last 15 minutes screaming at him about it. Osamu had found him lying on the piano bench in a practice room, procrastinating instead of practicing. He had already taken the first step with Dr. Kurosu. He just had to tell Atsumu.

As the words flowed out of his mouth, Osamu watches the betrayal and anger take their place on Atsumu's face. Atsumu’s face contorts in anger. He gets up from the bench and grabs Osamu’s collar. Atsumu squints at him, and his lips curls inwards. Osamu feels the rage flowing through Atsumu’s fingertips, pulsing through his veins. Osamu feels the heat emanating from Atsumu’s entire being with their proximity. His palms break out in sweat as he tries to get Atsumu’s grip off his collar. 

The words that fall out of Atsumu’s mouth next doesn’t surprise him. They’re just fighting words. 

Other than their parents requesting the school to put them in separate classes during their primary school days, they've always found a way to stick together. They went to each other's competitions and accompanied each other in recitals. Osamu knows Atsumu's just a little hungrier for success in the music industry more than him. Atsumu’s passion burns with unmatched intensity. No matter the difficulty and period, he consumes new pieces as fuel. His competitiveness on and off stage fans his flames, and he ignites a spark under his competitors to keep up. 

Atsumu practices as if to quell the ever burning flames. Atsumu practices and ignores the pain in his fingers and wrists. When the flames start to burn him, Osamu has to be there to extinguish the flames. Atsumu’s fingers are calloused, but they are strong and efficient. Sometimes, Atsumu doesn’t play, but he lies on the floor in their living room, head underneath their upright piano, silent until he screams in rage. Sometimes Atsumu hates playing, but he hates himself more if he doesn’t play. 

Atsumu doesn't know how to give up. Atsumu only knows giving up means you're fucking piece of trash. 

Osamu knows he's not trash, but he's no Sakusa Kiyoomi who branched out into the professional world right out of middle school. He's also not Hoshiumi Kourai that released a new sold-out recording. The classical music world demands someone a little crazy. 

Miya Osamu is not that kind of crazy.

Miya Osamu knows a little about giving up. He tried once when he was 8. 

Atsumu wanted to switch instruments with him. They watched Evgeny Kissin play Rachmaninov's _Piano Concerto No.2_ live that weekend. Atsumu became starstruck, screaming about how his fingers danced and flowed across the keys, how Kissin brought spirit to the music. Atsumu demands to switch instruments with him. Osamu remembers letting Atsumu have it without any complains. Atsumu's newfound enthusiasm amused their parents, but they already paid for the new violin. Osamu picks it up instead. 

Miya Atsumu is that kind of crazy, and Miya Osamu chokes on the smoke.

They first taste success at a regional violin-piano competition. The judges love the chemistry between them. It comes easy to them compared to other violin-piano pairs. The audience falls head over heels over the idea of twin prodigies. Their reputation precedes their small town as they participate in more competitions around the country. It grows within Osamu when Atsumu qualifies for the Frederic Chopin International Piano Competition.

Osamu watched Atsumu pour his entire being into music. He runs towards his dreams without care nor concern for his competitors. He analyses the techniques and practices used by the professionals and adapts it into his routine. Atsumu gets carried away with the competition – the never-ending journey to play the perfect interpretation. 

Osamu questions himself when he doesn't feel frustrated about not qualifying for any international competitions. The number of local competitions he qualifies for starts to die down as well. 

Atsumu doesn't object when Osamu chooses not to major in music, but he knows how Atsumu feels about quitting, so he takes it up as a minor. Atsumu doesn’t comment when Osamu registers as a business marketing major. Atsumu knows his aspirations to be an entrepreneur and one day open a restaurant. 

There’s only so much Atsumu can keep in his heart without exploding. The resentment against Osamu gradually leaving him festering since he stopped doing competitions and recitals with him. It might have started when Osamu let him have the piano without a fight. Osamu doesn’t know. 

_“When you are dead, I’ll tell you, ‘See I was happier than you!’”_

Osamu lets Atsumu win this fight. He lets Atsumu scream at him until his heart’s content, and Osamu takes it all in. He’s used to the words Atsumu hurls at him; they’ve fought multiple times before this, but the rage flows out of Atsumu like magma, destroying everything in its path. His words consume the structures and burn any sense of familial love between them. 

Atsumu storms out of the practice room before he has the chance to retort any of it. He doesn’t give chase. Osamu lets the door close behind him before moving to turn the lock and switch the lights off. He backs himself into the corner of the practice room, hidden from the clear glass panel of the door that continues to let light into the space, and he sinks to the carpeted floor. He picks at the worn out carpet beneath him as a lump grows in his throat and tears prick at his eyes. He raises his tremoring hands to dig his palms into his eyes. Osamu hugs his legs close to him as the walls enclosed around him. He takes a long slow deep breath, but he chokes on the sob that breaks out instead. His breath shortens with every passing second, and his chest grows tighter. He tries to hold back the seething torrent of tears that built up since Atsumu started yelling, but they overcome him – sweeping him under the waves and carrying him further away from land. 

Osamu forces himself to stand up. He grips onto the walls, his legs shaking from the sheer force of emotions coursing through his body. He needs to leave. 

No one would pay him attention for appearing out of the practice room all puffy-eyed and snot-faced. More than enough people cry in the practice room out of frustration. He takes the risk and darts out of the practice room. He’s sure Atsumu’s screams escaped out of the room and attracted some attention. They’re not all that soundproof. 

_Just fucking walk. Walk. Walk. Walk. Walk. Don’t look. Wa—_

He whirls around a corner down a hall that leads him to the bathroom before getting rammed to the ground. Books and music sheets fall to the ground with him. 

“Shit.”

It pulls him out of the swirling vortex as he freezes, his pupils shaking when a hand touches his arm.

“Osamu.” 

Osamu snaps up and faces the same blue eyes he willingly let himself drown in. Now, they overwhelm him. Akaashi’s crouched on the floor with him. He becomes aware of how puffy his eyes feel and the snot that might be running down his face. Akaashi’s name is stuck in his throat. Akaashi can’t see him like this. His fists clench and his lips quiver. He scrambles away from Akaashi, his hands shaking as he tries to pick himself up, falling once again before his feet finds the ground, and he runs. 

Osamu finds himself in Kita’s apartment 10 minutes later. He nurses the cup of matcha Kita put into his hands. It has turned cold despite the warmth emanating from Osamu’s palm. Kita doesn’t comment when he shows up, red-faced with dried streaks of tears on his cheeks. His hands continued to shake as Kita brings him into the flat and sits him by the kotatsu in the living room. Kita knows about the whole shebang. Osama confided in him over it months ago in hopes of finding the confidence to eventually break it to Atsumu. He’s gone and done it now. Atsumu won’t talk to him for at least the next few days, this time maybe even weeks.

The apartment’s empty, save for Kita and Aki, Kita’s fluffy Norwegian Forest cat. Aki has taken the liberty of climbing and falling asleep in Osamu’s lap, warmth emanating from its body. Osamu strokes Aki, his hands no longer shaking from the tremors. Aki purrs in his lap as he continues stroking his coat.

“Osamu, you have to try to speak with Atsumu again.”

Osamu doesn’t reply him and keeps his eyes on the cup. He can’t bring himself to meet Kita’s. He thinks about Akaashi. He ran away without even apologising. Osamu bangs his head on the kotatsu and groans, how is he going to talk to Akaashi in the future. Aki meows at him in response. 

“’m sorry Aki.”

“Osamu,” Kita’s voice turns stern. Osamu hears him sigh as he places his cup on the kotatsu table.

“Have you found an accompanist for that last recital?” Osamu’s grateful to Kita’s sixth sense on knowing when to change topics. He has two weeks before it happens. He could have asked Atsumu, but after today, he doesn’t think Atsumu would be willing to talk to him for the next month. Osamu wants to grow out an extra pair of arms so that he doesn’t have to approach Akaashi to accompany him. 

“Kita, can’t you accompany me?”

“No.”

Osamu takes Aki out of his lap and Lion-King-lifts him to his eye level, “Aki, you play with me. Who needs Atsumu? We’ll be the best pair this music world has ever seen.”

Aki lets out another meow and licks his paw. 

_Un peu moins lent (Dans une expression allant grandissant)_

"You want me to play this with you?" 

"Yeah um if you wouldn't mind. I know it's an easy piece, that's why Atsumu wouldn't accompany me. It's for my la- my-uh end of year recital. I know it’s soon, it’s okay if you can’t do it," Osamu wrings his hands in nervousness. Akaashi doesn’t need know about him giving up yet. He didn’t need to know Atsumu wouldn’t even look at him in the eye after their last fight. The atmosphere in their apartment tense as their other roommates tiptoe around them whenever they’re both at home. 

The request is sudden, he hasn’t had the chance to apologise to Akaashi about that incident, but Dr. Kurosu had been hounding down on him about finding an accompanist soon. He doesn’t want to antagonize that man any further than he needs to. 

Kita’s suggested asking Akaashi since they’re both in the same year. In that moment, Osamu thought he could use this chance to apologise to him about the incident, but the words become stuck in Osamu’s throat.

Akaashi doesn’t mention it either. He shuffles through the accompaniment and raises an eyebrow at Osamu. "Easy? _Spiegel im spiegel_ is anything but easy," Akaashi looks up at him, his eyes tensed and piercing. “Small range with no dynamic or phrase markings. It’s a blank canvas only textured by tintinnabular sounds. If anything, it’s hard not to play it flat. It’s difficult to bring it alive. The melody returns to central pitch A after distancing, like returning home after being away.” 

Osamu holds his breath and clenches around the strap of his violin case. He knows what Akaashi means as he nerds out. The first time Osamu listened to it, he cries like a baby in his bedroom. Atsumu came in confused when he saw Osamu clutching his phone on his bunk with tears flowing down he cheeks. 

Only a three-note piano accompaniment with the melody. Osamu almost feels foolish for asking Akaashi Keiji, 3-time international piano champion, to play a set of boring sequenced broken triads for him. Foolish also for not having the mind to apologise yet, they’ve been in the same room for the past 5 minutes. 

"But I can do it. Send me your availability. I could probably make something work within both our schedules. We’ll have it ready."

Akaashi breaks him out of his thoughts, and Osamu lets out a sigh of relief, "Oh thank god. Thank you Akaashi-kun. I didn't want to approach Suga-san about this." He throws in Suga’s name in hopes of not He wipes his palms against his pants before digging out his phone to exchange contacts with him. He unlocks his phone to hand it to Akaashi when Akaashi reaches out first to touch the little onigiri charm tied to his phone case. Suna’s little sister gave it to him a few years ago when he was still in high school. 

He’s half expecting Akaashi to mock him, a grown man walking around with a sparkly onigiri topped off with little orange ikura swinging around whenever he uses his phone. Akaashi somehow senses his worries and gives him a heartwarming smile, “Cute.”

 _Oh._ Osamu wants to grip his chest at the sight, but his shoulders tense up towards his ears instead. 

“Do you have time now? We can practice together now if you wanted to,” Akaashi lets go of the charm and clears his throat. He turns back to put away his music sitting on the piano into his bookbag. Akaashi stands, “I just have to go make a copy of this for myself. I’ll be back. You can stay here if you want.”

Akaashi’s dressed in a mustard yellow coat with a black sweater underneath paired with some black jeans today. His gold and silver owl piercings switched out for silver sakuras. Osamu gives him a stiff nod when Akaashi turns around for a sign of acknowledgment. 

When Akaashi leaves the room, Osamu puts his hands on his knees and lets out a small scream. His palms feel sweatier than ever as he rubs them against his pants in an attempt to dry them. He sets his case on the floor by Akaashi’s bag and unpacks his violin. Time creeps by. Gathering his guts to ask Akaashi to accompany him took a lot out of him. 

_It’s not like you actually asked him out._

All he wants to do is lie down and let his 24-hour playlist run in the background. Soundtracks and OSTs always helped make his day better. Osamu moves towards the piano and strokes the rim of it for a moment. He takes another look at the door and through the glass pane, Akaashi not yet returned from the printer, so he takes the opportunity. He sits by the piano and looks at the keys before hovering his hands over them. His hands tremble. He shuts his eyes tight for a second and exhales before inhaling deeply to calm his nerves. No one else was in the room, he didn’t need to be nervous. Osamu exhales as he presses on the familiar opening chords. He continues to let the notes flow out, and he leans towards the piano as he grows the melody. 

"You like _Your Name?_ ” Osamu shoots up from the bench, causing it to fall as he stands to see Akaashi standing by the door with his arms folded. He watches the smile on Akaashi’s face widen as he approaches him. Osamu looks at the fallen piano bench and winces before putting it upright. He stiffens and walks away from the piano, his hands behind him, unsure of what to do with them. Akaashi’s eyes watch his awkward movements.

"A-akaashi-kun! I-i-uh you know was just messing around. Nothing impressive.”

“I disagree. Those were some heart-wrenching chords. I didn’t know you played the piano,” Akaashi cocks an eyebrow at him. Akaashi returns his score into his hands and moves to the piano. He pats the space beside him, his eyes glimmer with the light and expectant of Osamu to join him. Osamu’s body moves towards Akaashi, as if he was a homing beacon. His thighs graze Akaashi’s as they sit next to each other. They’re not big men, but their height doesn’t give them the liberty to sit on the edge of the small bench. Their shoulders bump into each other’s as they try to give each other space, Osamu’s wider than Akaashi’s.

"I started the piano first. ‘Tsumu insisted on switching with me after our first year of learning. So I got stuck with the violin instead," Osamu sighs and pokes at the keys.

"Hmm, I think that suits you better. Unrestrained by these eighty-eight keys, almost always being in the spotlight with the melodic line. Seems like you,” Akaashi puts his hands in ready position on the keys, “Wanna play together?”

Osamu hesitates for a moment, but he puts his hands in ready position as well. He takes a deep breath before he presses the five familiar opening chords. He feels Akaashi’s eyes on him before he repeats the same chords in the upper register. Osamu doesn’t take his eyes off the keys, and he watches Akaashi’s long thin fingers develop the melodic line. It starts off simple with a singular line against a one-note bass accompaniment; the wind chimes tinkling in the gentle breeze. Akaashi’s hands don’t move much from their positions, letting his fingers reach over the wide intervals. Osamu takes the opportunity to grow the bass into dense chords, and his right hand reaches over Akaashi’s to create the chime of bells in the wind. His fingers brush against Akaashi’s each time. Their fingers dance around each other on the keys in synergy. Osamu lets the calm waters submerge him, but it develops faster than he expects, and he’s swept under the surging tides. The bass swells with the melody’s entrance, and the winds break the calm surface. The tempo picks up as Akaashi expands the single-note melody into thick chords and pulls him out of the treacherous waters. The water stills as Akaashi repeats the opening melody once again. Osamu lifts his hands away and lets Akaashi take the lead. He watches Akaashi’s hands touch the keys with deliberate motion. The ending note resonates a little in the dead practice room. 

"Osamu,” Akaashi’s voice takes him away from his thoughts. 

"Hmm?"

"Are you afraid of me? You're always so tense around me," Akaashi stares at him. Osamu becomes painfully aware of how close they're sitting next to each other. He grips the bench at the realisation. The piano bench isn't the widest thing for two people to sit on, and Osamu wants nothing more but to fling himself off a rooftop right now. He takes a deep breath, but remains silent. Akaashi cocks an eyebrow at his silence. The blue in Akaashi's eyes darken, and they're almost similar to his gray eyes. The sterile white lights in the practice room make the green in his eyes swirl. 

The Kawai baby grand takes up most of the space in the practice room, his violin case and Akaashi's bag sits in the corner of the room, his violin sits atop the closed lid of the piano, and the music stand parked by the bentside of the piano. Akaashi doesn't break eye contact, and he leans closer to him. Osamu attempts to remain expressionless at Akaashi's statement, but the twinkle in Akaashi's eyes lets him know he's failing. At this distance, he can hear Akaashi's steady breathing; if he leaned any closer, Akaashi might let him hear his heartbeat; his own heart pounding in his eardrums and pushes the silence out of the room. 

_Fuck it_.

Osamu brings a hand up to run his fingers through Akaashi's curls. He hears Akaashi's breath hitch when his hand makes contact. Osamu pushes his curls behind his ear, his fingers brushing lightly against the piercings on his helix. Akaashi's eyes widen and his eyelashes flutter in mild panic, a tinge of pink paints his cheeks. Osamu feels the heat rising up his neck as he takes Akaashi's face into his hands. Warmth emanates from his face, and Osamu watches a myriad of emotions swim through Akaashi's eyes, his thumb unconsciously rubs along the side of Akaashi's jaw. His gaze falls onto Akaashi’s lips for a second. Akaashi moves before he does and puts his hand on his nape, dragging him away from the swell of the waves in Akaashi's eyes, but Osamu closes his eyes and lets the waves engulf him. 

Akaashi kisses him. It starts soft as a peck, then Akaashi draws him closer and forces his tongue inside. Osamu’s hands fall to Akaashi’s waist as Akaashi climbs into his lap and wraps his legs around him. Osamu lets out a small moan as Akaashi’s tongue continues to explore the crevice of his mouth. He clings onto Akaashi's jacket as a buoy to keep himself afloat, but he sinks deeper. His hands feels the contours of Akaashi’s bone structure, and his fingers brush over the piercings on Akaashi’s ear. His glasses press against his face. Osamu strokes Akaashi’s cheeks before taking off his glasses. He takes in Akaashi’s scent – lavender. Akaashi’s hands run through his hair before they move down to stroke his neck. Osamu angles himself to give Akaashi more freedo—

_BANG!_

Osamu looks up so fast, he thinks he might have given himself whiplash. His hands grip onto Akaashi’s jacket tighter, despite his awareness of the intruder standing by the door. 

"'SAMU! Oh Jesus fucking Christ. You guys were making out, weren’t ya? How middle school can you get? A practice room?!” Atsumu screeches at the top of his lungs. He stands by the door in a gremlin-like stance.. Osamu stares at him and rolls his eyes unimpressed. Atsumu will hold this over him, even if they aren’t on talking terms right now. Akaashi keeps his face in the crook of Osamu’s neck, unable to make eye contact with Atsumu. His ears tinged a bright red, making his piercings stand out even more, and his hands remain around Osamu’s nape, his fingers rubbing circles into Osamu’s neck, but he doesn’t move out of Osamu’s lap. Osamu watches Atsumu pace by the door. His hands swinging in exasperation as he continues to yell about something Osamu has tuned out. The taste of Akaashi occupies his mind. 

“Hey Akaashi-kun, I have a question,” Osamu tilts Akaashi’s head.

“I may have an answer.”

“I’M STILL HERE YOU GROSS PEOPLE. OH THE GERMS IN THIS ROOM NOW.”

“Are you a practice room? Because I want you and I hope you’re not taken.”

Osamu hears Atsumu pretending to retch. Akaashi holds his sides as if he’s in pain, but his shoulders shake uncontrollably and the corner of his lips curled involuntarily. His cheeks swell momentarily with the pressure before he cracks up in fits of laughter. Apart from Akaashi’s interpretation of _La Cathédrale engloutie_ , Osamu think it’s the most wonderous thing he’s heard, “Also because you’re unbelievably hot, and you make me feel self-conscious.”

Akaashi’s laughter pauses, and Osamu watches the blush rise from Akaashi’s neck. He watches the blush go through all fifty shades of red. There’s a moment of pin drop silence before Atsumu shrieks, “Oh fucking god why are we related. Why did I have to heard that. I’m going to bleach my ears and my eyes. That was the worst thing you said all day ‘Samu. Can’t believe I didn’t fucking eat you in the fucking womb.”

Osamu picks up the pencil on the piano and flings it at Atsumu. In return, Atsumu hurls more expletives at him. Osamu doesn’t know why Atsumu’s looking for him anyway. Atsumu’s too prideful to come to him to apologise first. Not with actual words at least. Akaashi ignores the words Atsumu spews, and gives Osamu the biggest grin before leaning in to whisper by his ear, “Are you a practice room? I want to make loud noises inside of you for hours on end.”

Osamu pulls back and looks at Akaashi, an internal furnace flushing his cheeks. Akaashi’s eyes crinkle in amusement at Osamu’s reaction. Osamu snakes his hands around Akaashi’s waist and puts his face on Akaashi’s chest. He hears Akaashi’s heartbeat tick like a metronome, steady and unwavering. He wants a hole to open up beneath him right now. _Or maybe he’ll let Akaashi devour him whole._

“A-aka—” 

“Keiji.”

“Oh. Uh-K-keiji you can’t just say that so casually,” he buries his head deeper into Akaashi’s chest with Akaashi’s request, his voice muffled by his coat. 

Osamu feels the vibrations of Akaashi’s laughter reverberating through his chest. His fingers comb through Osamu’s hair and he places a kiss atop his crown, “I like you too Osamu.”

_comme un écho de la phrase entendue précédemment_

Osamu wipes his hand on his black slacks. He doesn’t hear Futakuchi blaring away on his saxophone on stage. His grip around the neck of his violin tightens as he tries to bring his breathing under control. His heart beating wildly against his chest. A hand lands on the small of his back to snap him out of his thoughts. He turns to see Akaashi smile at him. The blue light backstage doesn’t bring justice to Akaashi’s eyes, his eyes absorb the light and they appear black under them. Osamu grasps at Akaashi’s hand with his right, his left holding his violin. Akaashi covers his with both of his larger hands. Osamu relishes in the warmth emanating from them as if he wasn’t trying to wipe the nervousness away before. 

“Nervous?” 

“A little.”

The last two weeks had been chaos. The recital had fallen right at the end of finals week, and Osamu’s schedule had been jammed pack with multiple presentations and projects. He spent any available time he had in the practice room with Akaashi, trying to sync up with one another in pursuit of perfection. 

(Akaashi might have cornered him in the practice room more than once just to kiss him senseless.)

“You’re ready. We’re ready,” Akaashi gives his hand a few comforting pats.

Futakuchi yells a “Fuck yeah!” as he finishes his performance. _Saxophone players, of fucking course._ Osamu bets if the saxophone didn’t cost _seven thousand dollars_ , Futakuchi might’ve even thrown it off stage. 

Osamu stiffens as Futakuchi makes his way off stage, and the stagehands prep the piano for Akaashi. It’s not an unfamiliar sight; he’s done this multiple times – with Atsumu, that is. Despite the unfortunate intrusion, Atsumu still grunts and hums at him in their conversations instead of producing coherent sentences. Atsumu knows of this recital, he knows that it’s probably Osamu’s last time performing. A small send-off in front of faculty and students instead of a large audience with a world renowned orchestra. A simple melodic line instead of a high technique concerto. He didn’t spot Atsumu in the audience when he took a peek before – his platinum blonde hair nowhere to be seen. 

The stagehands signal him to take his place on stage. Akaashi squeezes his hand one more time before letting him go. Osamu walks on stage with his feet feeling uncomfortably light. He stands atop the ‘x’ that marks the centre. The hall is packed with faculty and students, not an empty seat in sight, but the platinum blond hair doesn’t come into his vision. He lets out a sigh before giving the audience a small bow and puts a hand out to introduce Akaashi as his accompanist.

Osamu puts his violin on his shoulder, but his right hand remains slack with the bow. The spotlight feels immensely warm. He tilts his head to look at Akaashi behind him. Akaashi gives him a nod, his hands already in position. Osamu smiles back, and lets Akaashi take the lead. Osamu closes his eyes. The shuffling of programme notes transitions into a tranquil silence, and he takes in the entrance of delicate triads and reverberating bass – the sand soft beneath his feet, and the waves crawls gently to the shore, kissing gently at his feet; the pulse of the sea palpitating at a steady and peaceful pace.

It signals Osamu back to reality. He readjusts himself, inhaling deeply before exhaling to release. His bow moves without hesitation, and lets the opening _G_ resonate through the hall. 

He takes a risk and steps deeper into the waters. The tides grow and the waves crash against his torso, but he hears the ring of the chimes in the wind. The gentle ocean breeze whispers. The piano calls him back and guides him home back to _A._ Osamu wants to break away and let the melody grow. He ventures deeper into the waters, and swims further away from the shoreline. He wonders what lies beyond the horizon. Yet, the line remains steady in its stride, it doesn’t stray far away before the ring of the bell calls him home again. 

Osamu hears Akaashi ring the bell for the last time. Osamu leaps, reaching a distance further than he thought, before he makes his way back with a descending scale. Akaashi lets go as well, and the last note echoes in the hall. Osamu lets the silence envelop them before his arms go slack and he puts his violin down. 

Osamu doesn’t hear the audience’s applause, nor does he see them rise from their seats. The adrenaline pumps hard in his veins, and the last note continues to ring in his ears. His posture slumps a little as he regains awareness of his surroundings. Osamu turns to meet Akaashi’s eyes first. Akaashi beams at him, and his eyes twinkles.

Osamu’s eyes drift towards the curtains, and Atsumu stands there clapping, his gold eyes glassy. Osamu’s eyes widen at the sight. He gives the audience a quick bow again and sticks a hand out to Akaashi to acknowledge him before leaving the stage as fast as he can.

With his violin and bow in one hand, he grabs Atsumu in a one-handed hug, “’Tsumu, You came.”

Atsumu wraps his arms around him and pulls him close, “I’m so proud of you, ‘Samu.”

Atsumu’s voice wavers, and Osamu’s grip on his instrument falters for a second.

 _I’m sorry for what I said_.

The warmth from Atsumu’s body is familiar to him, and he lets his body sag a little in his grasp. Akaashi, that smart, beautiful man, takes Osamu’s violin out of his hand and gives him a knowing smile. He leaves them as he goes to greet faculty members backstage. Osamu envelops Atsumu tight in his arms, and he hears Atsumu’s breath hitch a little before his body softens.

_Dans la sonorité du début_

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't make up in a practice room, i cannot emphasize how gross it is in there. Also a lot of anger contained in a tiny space. Very unromantic -734923/10 (although i do want to attempt staying overnight in them one day before i graduate like how people try to hide in ikea)
> 
> I am a violinist for reasons being my two hands cannot understand how to press multiple keys at once.  
> Classical music is quite subjective and up to individual interpretation. Here's links to my personal favourite performances of the pieces mentioned:  
> [ La Cathédrale engloutie - Claude Debussy](https://youtu.be/NsdIkUSjXv8)  
> this is a cello rendition but it's like the one of the best that's on youtube  
> [ Spiegel im Spiegel - Arvo Pärt](https://youtu.be/FZe3mXlnfNc)  
> I made them play this as a duet [ Kataware Doki ](https://youtu.be/l4O9lB0A9ns)  
> Translations for the French (according to reddit because again im not french):  
> profondément calme (dans une brume doucement sonore) — deeply calm (in a softly sonorous mist)  
> peu à peu sortant de la brume — slowly coming out of the mist  
> sonore sans dureté — sonorous yet not hard(?)  
> Un peu moins lent (Dans une expression allant grandissant) -- less slowly (in a growing expression)  
> Dans la sonorité du début -- with the tone of the beginning  
> I hope you enjoyed reading this :D  
> you can always come watch me scream or scream with me here on[ twitter](https://twitter.com/endomiphins/)


End file.
